Army Men from the Black Lagoon

Dollar Store Project.. Round Two
Army Men from the Black Lagoon!


After buying 200 plastic army men from Dollar Tree, I began to ponder consumerism and how early it begins. From the ages 3-8, I took ballet twice a week at a studio in Winona, MN. As soon as class had finished, I used to beg (literally, beg) to go to McDonald's; I hated their food, but I absolutely HAD to have the new happy meal toy. My parents weren't fans of McDonald's, so they always said "no" ...lucky for me, I was part of a carpool--and none of the other parents had any problem with McDonald's (score).

My week would revolve around that toy, and the next week, I'd get a new toy to add to the collection.. after a few months, I'd managed to stockpile an impressive amount of Happy Meal toys. Then, slowly, I stopped caring about ones from a few months back -- this trend continued for years. When I was...errr 8? years old? maybe? I became fully caught-up in the dawning of the age of the Gigga-pet. I HAD TO HAVE ONE. My parents said no... I begged for months, eventually they surprised me with one. A week after having been gifted my Gigga-pet, I wanted to smash it into little pieces.. it was obnoxious and it was driving me complETEly crazy with its constant beeping and the little pixelated puppy who was begging to be fed and have its poo shoveled. BUT, I kept it, and kept putting up with it and occasionally playing with it. WHY? Because it was the thing to do. You couldn't be one of the popular girls without them (mind you, I'm 8 at this point.. in 2nd grade.. and yes, there was already a crowd of popular girls).

At 8 years old, my Gigga-pet owned me. This is my first memory of the realization of my own materialism. It would be years before I began to really ponder the notion of consumerism and its effects on society--especially on children.

So--what happened to all of those Happy Meal toys? All of my brother's 2million LEGO's? Barbie dolls? ..okay, in all fairness, my Barbie dolls are packed safely in a cool dry place because I really do want to keep them forever. BUT - what about my Barbie dreamhouse? And my Moon Shoes? And my skip-it? Hula-hoop? Gel pens? Pre-teen magazines? ANDDD let's not forget.. my KEYCHAINS (oh, the keychains..)??

I wish I could tell you what happened to all of the junk that I let own me, one item at a time throughout my entire childhood, but unfortunately - I cannot. It was likely donated to Goodwill or handed down to my cousins' children who most likely threw it all away.

Getting to my point - These worthless items were what built my identity as a child. My identity was built on materialism and always wanting "more more more." And guess what? Not much has changed... except that now I don't want a new Barbie, I want a new 60" LCD LED 3D TV. More and more I find myself being owned by my possessions - they keep me tied down. AND THAT SUCKS. A house full of furniture, a car that needs gas, clothes that go out of style, and more toiletries, cosmetics & beauty products than I care to admit -- it's all a burden. If I wanted to pack up and move to Timbuktu, I'd be like a fly trying to get out of a spider's web, because I would never be able to part with all of my "stuff;" it would wind up in storage, or in my brother's living room, or my parents' basement.

Still haven't made my point. Trying.
What I was getting at with this sculpture was that consumerism and materialism are prominent - especially when it comes to children. These army men symbolized that for me, and that symbolism took the form of a sculpture of a scary-looking hand. A hand that can and will come out of nowhere and snatch you, and pull you into the black lagoon.

See you there.

Oh.. and a friend of mine recommended this video. Check it out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GorqroigqM